


One night

by StAnni



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Future Fic, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 19:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StAnni/pseuds/StAnni
Summary: Her head is a mess around him if she tries to think too much so she steps closer, slinking her hands into his jacket pockets, running her fingers down his gloved palms there.  He watches her, regarding her – expression as unreadable as ever.  “I’m assuming that this is a social visit.” She says and he leans into her, just so, meeting her lips with his own.The kiss is chaste but searing and he grips her hands with his, pulling them out of his pockets and drawing them behind her back – locking her into his arms.  “It is.” He concedes and Bruce is nothing if not heartbreakingly honest.





	One night

He comes to the club one night, almost six months after he’s come back, and he is focused and unrelenting. He has lost some of his softer edges, some of his platitudes and good graces. She assumes that is what years without Alfred to steer him back on path would do to him. “I need to talk to you. It’s been long enough.” He impatient, more impatient than he was as a child, and insistent to the point where she has to push him away with an astounded laugh. “You left Bruce, you don’t get to barge in here…” And then he kisses her, in the same manner he always has, like they belong to each other – like there never was and never will be any other choice for either of them. She pulls away and she is breathless despite herself. “It’s not that easy, Bruce.” And he doesn’t miss a beat, dark and sincere he says “I know.”

He knocks at her studio apartment and she knows that it is him because nobody else knows where she lives. When she opens his expression is stern, dark and without greeting. She is reminded, again, and in an instant of the young man that left years ago, and came back much harder, all the softer edges chipped away.   
Sometimes she misses the politeness of his adolescence. 

But then, perhaps they have known each other too long by now to still have space of niceties.

“Help you?” She asks, with a sigh as she leans against the door frame. She has gotten used to brooding Bruce over the past two years now. And she’s even gotten used to the way that he still disappears, for weeks on end. It’s frustrating, of course, considering the fact that she is never completely certain that he won’t just get on a plane and leave again, but for now he seems to return from time to time. And since the emotional intimacy they once had seems wholly replaced by almost a physical desperation, she doesn’t bring it up – doesn’t trust him enough anyway.

Years ago they were on solid ground, or at least as solid as it was ever going to get for them. Years ago, she was the one who knew how to find him. He was the one waiting for her. People do reckless things to each other.

“May I come in?” He asks evenly, and not waiting for an answer takes a step forward, expecting her to move.  
She doesn’t and for a moment they are toe to toe, his face inches from her upturned chin, and neither of them budging.   
But then she moves back and allows him inside with a thin, quick smile. “Course.”  
He smells of Mont Blanc and a shampoo that is rich with notes of pine.   
A little less than two months ago she ran her fingers up the back of his neck into that dark mess of curls and let him push her down into his bed. Not the first time and most probably not the last time, but she hasn’t seen him since.

“I thought you’d be at the club.” He says, and it’s just a simple observation. To which she quips “How would you know? You’re never there.” It is not supposed to sound accusatory but it does. And to his credit, she isn’t surprised at the slightly amused look he gives her. “I’ve been busy” 

She assumes that when he is not in Gotham, that he is busy with his new company ventures – jetting off and talking to all the people he talks to in his real life, his life by day – the life she is no longer a part of. So she knows he is busy, and his amusement at the tinge of jealousy is not unjustified, but it hurts nonetheless.

He takes off his coat – the expensive wool of his sweater stretching beautifully across his strong shoulders. He was always handsome as a boy, and he is now handsome in a way that sets her nerves on edge. When he turns to look at her his eyes are quiet, expectant, and she looks away.

She doesn’t want to ask him anything about the life he has shut her out of, she wants to but she doesn’t want to have to, or want to. 

Her head is a mess around him if she tries to think too much so she steps closer, slinking her hands into his jacket pockets, running her fingers down his gloved palms there. He watches her, regarding her – expression as unreadable as ever. “I’m assuming that this is a social visit.” She says and he leans into her, just so, meeting her lips with his own.

The kiss is chaste but searing and he grips her hands with his, pulling them out of his pockets and drawing them behind her back – locking her into his arms. “It is.” He concedes and Bruce is nothing if not heartbreakingly honest.

His bated reserve fails the moment that she runs a thigh between his legs, feeling the hard thickness of his erection through his expensive pants. In a moment he has her pressed back on her creaky twin bed, a warm palm sliding down the front of her jeans and pressing two fingers into her without any hesitation. Bruce has always been insatiable – when they were adolescents, pulling and pressing against each other in some dark back room in Haven, and upon his return, devouring her in his dusty room of the newly built Wayne Manor.  
He undresses her hungrily, gripping and bruising and lifting her by the waist as he turns her around – his body hard and pressed against her – cock, thick and warm, an iron rod between her thighs as he positions her to receive him. It is intense and animallistic as he breathes in her neck to spread her knees wider and after she shudders in orgasm for the first time he lifts her up against him, his chest warm against her back, braces them against the wall, and moves in deep and slow – chasing his own release. When he comes she can feel the beat of his heart against her shoulder, the harsh groan he expels with warm air against her ear. 

Afterwards he is quiet, sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes dark again as he pulls on his sweater and runs his hands over his face. Sure he is a dick sometimes, but she doesn’t particularly appreciate his extra morose demeanor at this very second and pushes up and away from the bed shaking her head and pulling her jeans up. “Why do you come here if you clearly feel shittier after.” She attempts an evenness in her voice, but she can clearly hear the tremble of hurt below the surface. 

So she doesn’t look at him as she waits for his answer – if he even is going to answer – but she does hear the creak of the bed as he gets up, feels the heat from his body as he stands close to her, not touching, but close enough that the hair on the back of her neck stands up in anticipation. “To feel, that’s the point.”

The blunt heft of the answer makes her heart sink and she reaches for her jacket, not facing him and pulls it on with her back to him – suddenly feeling very vulnerable and exposed. “You could stay.” She says, ventures, after a second. “One night.”

There is no answer and she doesn’t need to turn around to know that he is not there anymore.


End file.
